Open Wounds
by Avada Cait-davra
Summary: All Peter wants is Nathan, but when his healing abilities get taken from him, he may never have the chance again. M for Petrellicest, cutting. Better than it sounds, I'm so bad at summaries. :x Please RR?


"_How do you know how deep to go before it's real?" _- Pierce The Veil, "Yeah Boy and Doll Face."

Silver glinted in the dim light, flashed with scenes from a television show that had failed to distract him. He stared at the smooth edge, transfixed, conflicted in the course of his next action. Why was he doing this? He felt pathetic. He _really_ was pathetic. He had all the power in the world, but he remained powerless to control his own emotions.

There wasn't anything he could do. He had tried _everything. _He'd tried ignoring him, tried finding someone else, even tried leaving all together. But he'd always come back. Back home, back to his brother, his feelings. Back to the pain. Back to this.

Without another thought, he brought the blade to his skin, breathing in as it stung up his arm, down his fingertips. Blood seeped over his arm, deep red over pasty white. And even as the blood came, the cut was healing, sealing itself up and leaving no trace. And that was the beauty of this whole thing. No matter how much blood, no matter how deep the cut- a few moments of pain and it would be gone. It would be like it was never even there. No evidence, no reason to stop. He _couldn't _kill himself, even if he was trying.

Maybe that was taking advantage of his powers, or maybe it was abusing them. But he wasn't hurting anyone. He wasn't trying to steal people's lives, their powers, he was only trying to preserve his sanity. What was one more secret to keep?

But he almost wished they'd leave a mark. Something visible, tangible, something that would remind him he was alive. A souvenir of what he'd survived. He wanted to go too deep, so deep that the blood wouldn't stop. An endless flow of red, miraculously never running dry, like a waterfall. He wanted to need help, to have nowhere else to turn. Nowhere but Nathan. He wanted to have to call him in the dead of night, rapidly losing blood, too weak to drive himself to the hospital. He wanted Nathan to arrive, in sweatpants and a hoodie, half unzipped to reveal a smooth bare chest, having left his house in such a haste to rescue his tragic little brother. He wanted Nathan to gather him up in his arms, eyes teary, no words able to escape his lips apart from a whisper of his name. And Peter would reach a hand up to his brother's shoulder, feeling a prominent collar bone as he slipped out of consciousness.

But as he watched the wound close and felt the sting fade, he knew that would never happen. And as he slid the blade back into his skin, he realized it might not even happen that way if he couldn't heal.

Nathan was a busy man. He was a politician. Had a family. A _wife_. He could call Nathan, bleeding, and Nathan might not even answer. He might not even be home. He might be too bust in bed with his wife, he might not even hear the phone ring. The thought made Peter's hand slip. A yelp of surprise as he felt bone, breath coming in huffs from between clenched teeth. And what would he say on the machine? Hi, Nathan. It's Peter. I went too deep and I won't stop bleeding. But you're busy so it's okay. I love you, Nath.

He needed to stop being so melodramatic.

It didn't matter anyway. That would never happen. Again he watched as the muscle regrew, covering the bone he'd accidentally exposed, sinews reconnecting, veins closing.

He ran a hand through his hair, dimly thinking he should probably go clean up the sticky red dripping to his elbow. He stood, wandered to his bathroom and turned the water on. He watched as red turned pink and then was gone and ran back through the events of the night.

He'd gone to Nathan's anniversary party. It had only been one year, but a Petrelli would take any excuse to have a get together. Petrelli and party were practically synonyms. Angela had insisted Nathan hold his party at the mansion, and Nathan has complied. Less mess for him to clean up after, as he'd said to Peter. Peter laughed a laugh he wasn't feeling. This night was going to be hard. Harder, in a way, than the night he'd faced Sylar the first time. At least he could do something about that. Tonight he'd have to helplessly watch as his brother, his love, celebrated a year of happy marriage. He'd have to watch as he held and touched and kissed her. He was even supposed to make a toast.

Tonight was going to kill him.

Nathan and Heidi stood on the staircase of the main room - Well, Nathan stood. Heidi sat in her chair, hands draped gracefully in her lap, Nathan's on her shoulders. Everyone's eyes were glued to the couple from their seats at tables sheathed with crème colored fabric. The soft glow of the chandelier making them look beautiful, casting subtle sparkles into Heidi's hair and Nathan's suit.

Peter stood, clinking a fork against his champagne glass. He really hoped his voice would come out steadier than his hands, which were shaking so badly it was a miracle the champagne was still in the glass. Nathan looked down and smiled at Peter with perfect white teeth and Peter felt a shiver run down his spine and settle somewhere above his knees. He took a deep breath. He could do this. No, he _had _to.

"Nathan and Heidi. It's only been a year, but have any of you seen two people look any happier?" Peter appealed to the room, a smattering of applause answered as the idle dinner chatter died down. Peter swallowed. "I haven't. I've never seen two people _look_ any better together, either. And tonight marks the first year of many more. I love you guys." He gestured to the balcony with his glass. "To Nathan and Heidi." The rest of the hall echoed his last four words and Peter sipped his champagne. It made him feel sick.

And forcibly reminded him Peter of their wedding night. He'd been Nathan's best man, and miraculously both of their parents were present. Yes, Heidi looked stunning in her pure white dress with it's lacy train, but Peter barely noticed her. Nathan looked beautiful, angelic. He was almost glowing. His suit pressed and well-fitting, red flower, red bowtie, red lips. Clean shaven, teeth glistening, positively beaming. He looked over at Peter as Heidi ascended the aisle, a nervous smile. Peter smiled back, one that didn't reach his eyes, and gave his brother a small thumbs up. Nathan turned to face his bride, tugging the bottom of his suit coat.

The vows were said, the rings were exchanged, and the bride was kissed, and Peter couldn't help but cry, shedding a few more tears than were customary for a wedding. He caught the eye of his father, shaking his head and sighing disapprovingly. Peter's heart sank a little lower.

In the reception hall, the new couple shared their first dance and it was time for the toast from the best man.

"To Nathan, my brother, my best friend. And to Heidi- the newest Petrelli. Welcome to the family." _As fucked up and dysfunctional as it is._ "If Nathan is as good a husband as he is a brother, you are truly the luckiest lady in all the land." A few laughs, Nathan smirked and kissed Heidi, openly sliding in his tongue, earning a few excited outbursts from the crowd and a scoff from his mother. "Nathan has always ben there, no matter what, for me. And I'm sure he'll do the same for you. To a happy marriage and many happy years!"

Nathan walked over as Peter sipped the champagne and held back a cringe. It was too dry, too bubbly. Nathan slung his arm around Peter's shoulders and kissed his forehead with lips still wet with Heidi's saliva. Wet with his betrayal.

"I love you, man."

Peter had never gotten as drunk as he did that night.

And Peter had wanted to do that again tonight. He'd wanted to get so shitfaced nothing would matter, so he wouldn't remember anything. But he couldn't. He was _too _unhappy. Any alcohol he drank sat in his stomach like a brick, made him feel hungover as all hell- and he wasn't even getting a _little_ buzzed. So that idea was quickly abandoned and he opted instead to sit ut in the backyard amongst the crisp night air and rosebushes.

Alone, Peter let his mind wander. The sparkling of the stars reminded him of the chandelier, reminded him of the way it glinted off Nathan's teeth, reminded him of the time he'd experienced what those teeth felt like.

It had been in this very backyard behind these very rosebushes. Peter was sixteen and Nathan twenty-one. Nathan was home for a visit, and - no surprise - their parents were fighting. _Again. _Pros at escape tactics, the two brothers exited the house and walked along the manicured backyard. It was early spring. Peter remembered how strongly the newly blossomed roses smelled.

"So how've things been around here?"

"Mostly like that." Peter gestured back toward the house. A beat of silence. "I miss you, Nath."

"I miss you too, Pete. College is great and all, but I miss staying up and talking with you."

"You could call me."

"I keep odd hours."

"Bet I'd be up."

"At four in the morning?"

"I'm a light sleeper. I'd answer."

"Yeah and be cranky. You're not a good conversational partner when someone's just woken you up."

"I'd still like to talk to you. Mom and Dad are going to drive me _crazy._"

Nathan half frowned and nodded.

"So, Nath. You think about calling me at four a.m.?"

Nathan laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, what of it?"

"What of it? That's kind of weird, Nate."

"Why's it so weird? You're my brother, Pete."

"Brothers don't generally want to talk to each other at four in the morning. Who wants to talk to _anyone_ at four in the morning?"

"What if I didn't want to talk?"

"What?"

And with no warning, Nathan's lips were against his- thin rough and dry, his lip hanging slightly below Nathan's bottom one on one side, Nathan's lip subsequently in his mouth. Nathan lunged forward, his teeth clicking against Peter's, causing Peter to fall back and land in the rose bush. Nathan pulled away as suddenly as he'd attacked, leaving Peter with his mouth agape, tongue extended, waiting for more.

"Pete, I-I'm sorry, I-"

"Nathan. It's fine. It's _completely _fine, I-" Peter was breathless.

"Pete, no. You're just a baby. I can't do this to you."

And Nathan turned and left, despite Peter's calls, leaving Peter sitting in the rosebush, thorns pricking into the small of his back.

The pricks in his back reminded him of sitting in wicker chairs on Nathan's back patio. They were sitting, just sitting, in a silence full of things both of them knew, but remained unspoken. It was a comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of day turning to night and the soft hiss of beer being cracked open.

"So how's school going? You getting really good at being a big important lawyer?" Peter asked as the amber liquid slid into his stomach.

"It's going." Nathan said, waving off Peter's question. "How about you?"

"Oh, come on. I'm gonna be a nurse, Nate. A _nurse. _How hard is that?"

"It's med school."

"Yeah, well, according to Dad, your schooling's more important."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He paid for yours, didn't he?"

A confused look crossed Nathan's face. "You're paying for med school?"

"Well, not all of it." Peter took another swig. "Mom and Dad got into a huge fight over it. Dad doesn't approve of his son, the nurse. Big fucking surprise."

Nathan sighed and slung his arm across Peter's shoulders. "Dad's an asshole. You're going to be an amazing nurse, Pete. People are going to love you. I'm proud of you, if that counts for anything."

"It does." Peter turned his head and smiled up at his brother. "Thanks, Nath." He swiveled in his brother's arms, leaning up to place a soft kiss on his lips. Before he could pull away, Nathan took his bottom lip captive and slowly slid his tongue into Peter's warm welcoming mouth. Fingers sliding into dark hair, clasping around the back of a neck. Nathan pulled away with one soft parting peck.

"Pete, I have to tell you something."

"Mm, what's that?" Peter snuggled into the hollow of Nathan's shoulder, drinking in the warmth there.

Nathan adjusted his arm to lightly grasp Peter's hand. He took a soft breath.

"Well, um. There's, ah. There's a girl, Pete. Heidi."

Peter sprang out of the embrace and dropped his brother's hand. He felt the blood leave his face. "What?"

"I'm engaged."

"You- _What?_" Peter was standing now, his expression torn between anger and sadness.

"I wanted you to be the first to know. That doesn't mean this can't happen, Pete, it just-"

"Yes, it does. I can't hurt someone like that." Peter snatched his coat from the back of a chair and opened Nathan's back door.

"Peter, wait-"

"Goodbye, Nathan."

Peter walked through the house, dizzy with emotion, eyes blurry with tears. He remembered leaving that night and not talking to Nathan until one week before his wedding. Peter wished he could change that, he wanted not to have lost those months, he wanted to have those memories as well, not just the inescapable thought of being alone.

And suddenly, he was in Nathan's living room, standing behind a chocolate colored leather couch. Peter realized he'd been thinking too hard, lost control of his powers in his despair, in his want. Before he could concentrate hard enough on getting back to the present. Nathan entered the living room calling his name. He stopped short upon seeing the form of Peter, standing frozen. A deer in the headlights.

"Pete? I thought you left."

And without considering the consequences, Peter vaulted over the couch and pushed his brother into the recliner behind him so hard the bottom popped out. Peter was on top of Nathan, lips crushing against his ungracefully, chapped and rough, fingers furiously working on the buttons of his shirt. Nathan reached up to plant his hand behind Peter's head to force his lips harder against his, the tip of his nose poking into his cheek. Nathan pulled away for a moment, for air.

"Peter, I-"

"No. Don't talk."

And his lips became encompassed with Peter's once more, fingers biting into naked shoulder blades, wrists against collarbones. Nathan's fingers toyed with the button of Peter's pants and Peter wondered what part of the future he was inevitably ruining. Maybe his brother's marriage? It couldn't be too bad. And the burning of his arousal made him unable to care _too _much.

Nathan's cold hands were on him, in all the right places. Caressing up and down, side to side. Peter shuddered, whimpered. This was all he wanted. Warmth built up in his stomach and Nathan parted from his lips again, pushing Peter from the chair and onto the couch. Nathan's mouth met Peter again, but this time in a place that sent him convulsing with shivers. His vision blurred and he dug his fingers into Nathan's back as he bucked forward, leaving pink half moons in the tanned skin. Nathan's lips and tongue sent waves of pleasure from his middle down his legs, up his arms. A gasping moan, and Peter was done, Nathan removed his lips with a suckling kiss and wiped the corner of his mouth, smirking.

"Nathan." Peter's voice was low, husky. "I love you."

"I love you too, Pete."

"No, I mean it Nate. I really love you."

Nathan settled against Peter. "I know. And I mean it back. This isn't going to change a thing."

"It is though. It _is_."

"Well, if you think like that it is, but-"

"Nathan. Trust me, I know." Peter stood and redid his pants, indulging in one last sweet kiss before walking out of the front door.

Peter stood on the sidewalk and felt his eyes start to prickle, and as he squeezed them shut tears slid from between his eyelids. When he opened them again, he was staring at his own pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. He sobbed, wrapping his slender arms around himself, his veins still buzzing in ecstasy.

He missed Nathan, the present Nathan. He missed spending time with him, doing naughty little things, touching each other in places that brothers hands should not go. His cheeks were wet, soaked. He was crying, sobbing harder than the night his father had died. He'd always said Peter was too emotional.

He shouldn't have stayed in Nathan's living room. He shouldn't have let any of that happen. No matter how good it had felt when it was happening, it hurt like hell now. A scream involuntarily left his lips. A scream bubbling with hurt and despair, utter raw emotion. It sounded pathetic even to Peter's own ears, but he could not stop it. He clenched his teeth shut around the sound, but it would _not _stop. His jaw muffled the scream, but still it came. Roughly, he broke off to take a few ragged desperate breaths. His lungs would not cooperate, would not stay filled. He needed something, needed Nathan, needed _blood_. His fingers twitched and his hand lunged forward and snatched up his blade, still slightly wet from cleaning it. Another staggering breath and without another moment's hesitation the blade was in his arm. He dragged it with slow precision horizontally across his pale skin. He concentrated on making it straight, even though it wouldn't leave a mark, that was important. More pressure. Deeper. Deeper still. The slight sting turn to a seething burn as blood pooled to the surface and slid down his arm in a sticky warm line. Removing the blade from his skin, he tried to breathe, but it hitched into another sob. Angrily, he drove the straight sharp razor back into his wrist, straight through a prominent blue vein this time.

And with a moan and a sigh, air filled his lungs. The pain, the blood- he was satisfied. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He dropped the flat razor into the sink and held his arm by the elbow with his other hand, watching it bleed, waiting for it to heal. The pain radiated into his mind, numbed everything else. It was _beautiful_. But the pain didn't stop. The cuts he'd made - one perfectly straight, one irrevocably crooked - didn't heal. He stared longer, feeling his pulse begin to quicken.

The wounds would not heal.

Why weren't they healing? They should be long healed by now, skin stuck back to skin, blood sucked back inside. Now his breath came in panicked little huffs. _No._ He needed to stay calm. He needed to _not _panic. He needed to breathe, needed to think, needed to stop wasting time. The blood would not stop, it just kept coming and coming. Peter grabbed the towel hanging next to the sink - mockingly white. He pressed it against his arm, still holding it upright, eye level to the wound. He wiggled his fingers, they were starting to go numb. This was not good. He whimpered quietly at the sight of his blood, the coppery smell making him sick, making him dizzy. He blinked slowly, three times, trying to clear his mind. But it was clouded with blood, with pain, with the illogical _desperate _want for more.

His eyes slid closed. He forgot to breathe. This was bad. His fingers shook, he was cold. So cold. So scared. Why wasn't his damned arm healing?

Releasing the pressure on his arm for a moment, he dug into his pocket for his phone. The towel was sticky, the fibers clumped together with red. His eyes bleary with tears, it was a miracle he dialed Nathan's number right. As it rang, he fell back onto the side of the bath tub, turning on the water, trying to wash away some of the mess.

"Hello." A woman answered. Maybe he had dialed the wrong number. "Hello?"

Silence, only breathing answered her. Peter almost hung up and tried again. "Hello." She said more forcefully. "This isn't funny. Don't call here again."

"No. Wait." Peter's voice sounded odd. Like it wasn't coming from his throat. "Nathan?"

"Peter?"

"Nath. You're not Nathan."

"No, this is Heidi, Peter."

"Is Nathan there?"

"Yeah, hang on a sec."

Peter ran his arm under the water, washing away red, but more came in it's place. He hissed a little as the water hit his skin, bubbled and mixed with his blood. His breaths wouldn't calm, came in short shallow bursts. Why was Nathan taking so long? Didn't he understand this was important? Peter was scared, unreasonably afraid. There was too much red, entirely too much. Peter clenched his teeth, breathing heavily into the phone.

"Hello?" The sound of Nathan's voice brought fresh tears to Peter's eyes.

"Nathan." He croaked, tears choked him.

"Pete? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Nathan sounded concerned. Did he really sound that bad? Regardless, he drank in the sound.

"I can't heal anymore. It won't stop bleeding."

"Where are you? Did you get in a fight?"

"No, I'm at home. Nathan, I need you."

"I'm coming."

And the line disconnected but Peter kept the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, mumbling Nathan's name into the dead connection. He still held his arm under the spray of the faucet, but removed it deciding it was futile and pressed his once white towel back against his arm.

He stood shakily and blindly tried to leave his bathroom. Stumbling nearly as much as he would have after an entire bottle of Jack, he only made it as far as the kitchen before he fell to the floor and his legs would no longer listen to him. He heard a knock on the front door, called out softly, but there was no way Nathan could have heard him. His door was thrown open and Nathan's voice cut through the stiff silence much like Peter's blade had cut through his skin.

"Pete? Are you here, Pete?"

Peter couldn't answer loudly enough. His words cut off with a small cough. Nathan looked around the living room and made it to the kitchen. He stopped, hesitated for one miniscule moment upon seeing his brother sitting brokenly on his kitchen floor, a reddened towel pressed to his arm and face streaked with tears.

"Peter. Oh my god."

And Nathan was across the room in a second, his warm hands on Peter's trembling shoulders, his chin, trying to get him to look up at him. Peter couldn't make his eyes stay focused.

"Nath. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sh, Peter. Just tell me what happened."

Peter let go of the towel and Nathan gasped, delicately taking his arm. "It won't stop, Nath."

"Jesus, Peter…" Nathan couldn't think of anything to say. He took out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. "Why did you-"

Peter was crying now, silent sobs shook him. Nathan wrapped his arms around him, shifted so Peter was in his lap.

"Nathan, I love you. I love you so much."

Nathan kissed Peter on the forehead. "I love you too, Peter. I always will. You're going to be fine. The ambulances are coming."

Peter didn't acknowledge Nathan's statement, only clung closer to him, bleeding on his meticulously ironed suit. He grasped Nathan's tie, used it as leverage and leaned up laboriously. He pressed his lips to Nathan's, forced his tongue past his teeth. Nathan reciprocated, holding Peter up and kissing him deeply, longingly, lovingly. Peter whimpered and Nathan's cheeks became wet with his brother's tears. Peter pulled his tongue back and Nathan entered his mouth, tonguing the roof of his mouth, all of his teeth. He caressed Peter's tongue with his own, but Peter did not answer. Fingers of ice gripped his spine and he backed away from Peter's mouth. Peter fell back in Nathan's arms, eyes shut, chest unmoving. The sounds of sirens filled the air and orange and red flashed on the ceiling. But they were too late. Peter lay dead in his brother's embrace.


End file.
